Joy.
Happiness.
These twin concepts loom large as the elusive grail of modern-day existential quests. Somehow, our culture has latched on to the idea of happiness as an achievement to unlock, once attained, we will own it forever.
We undertake projects and graduate level courses to attain happiness.
We discard what does not bring us joy.
There are hundreds of books promising to splay out the author’s own secrets for finding happiness. Be happier with more. Be happier with less. Be happier if whatever we have is just more organized. Start saying “yes.” Embrace the joy of saying “no.”
It’s really overwhelming.
We’re now fully ensconced in a season where happiness and joy are expected of us, preached to us. Hurled at us is more like it. We’re under so much pressure to be jolly, happy and joyful while facing the stress of shopping, cooking and spending (money and time) on perfect gifts and travel. Don’t forget that whole global pandemic thing, which is still wreaking havoc and proving fatal. And whatever fresh hell is in the news. Also, just for funsies, in the Northern Hemisphere, we’re dealing with that whole daylight’s-gone-away-and-it’s-dark-in-the-afternoon situation.
And if you don’t succumb to society’s demand to be an abundant font of happiness and joy amidst heavy traffic, most-popular-toy scarcity and approximately one hundred and seventeen thousand extra demands on your time (or perhaps zero extra demands on your time when you were hoping for a party invite or two)?
You’re rewarded with one of the greatest insults of all time, besmirched as one of literature’s meanest villians: You’re a Scrooge. Pre-redemption, the man who doesn’t share his toys, the man with no heart, the man of hate, the man we love to hate.
We’re supposed to be pouring ourselves into tiny cocktail dresses, filling our faces with all manner of sweets, booze, and heavy nibbles while feeling festive. But plunges in temperature and less daylight signal to our bodies that we should eat soup under a blanket while binge watching Ted Lasso or re-reading Harry Potter.
Forget Seasonal Affective disorder, it’s Seasonal Toxic Positivity.
I’m not waging a war on Christmas.
There is no war on Christmas.
I’m giving you permission to feel however you want to feel.
There’s a lot of shit going on in the world right now that frankly isn’t worth celebrating.
But also, there’s a lot that is.
While everyone is getting all bogged down with finding joy and attaining happiness, we seem to be overlooking delight.
This isn’t a perfect analogy, but say happiness is a grand buffet, while joy is a giant four tier cake rippling with frosting and decorative swirls1. Delight is a small but delicious cookie, unnoticed for its quiet humility.
Delight is so often discounted, because, well, it’s so tiny and also so personal. It’s not an overarching state of mind, it’s a fleeting little nugget of goodness and pleasure for us to touch and hold.
Delight is based not on what we do or strive for. We don’t necessarily set ourselves up to be delighted the way we may endeavor for happiness or joy. Delight surprises. We don’t need to do, read, buy, or subscribe to anything to invite delight into our lives. It doesn’t require an excruciating regimen or draconian measures.
The only catch is we have to spot it and name it.
I repeat, the only achievement necessary for delight is our ability to notice it.
We have to cultivate an awareness of when delight overtakes us.
Delight includes all of the senses. A surprise smell that reminds us of grandmother’s house. A single note of a favorite song. That first spring day when you can go outside without a coat. Or for those of us in Southern climes, that first autumn day when you need to wear a hoodie.
But also, it’s so personal and subjective to our own experience.
I can’t tell you what it looks (sounds, smells, tastes, feels) like. Only you do. You know it when you see (hear, smell, taste, feel) it.
Poet Ross Gay challenged himself for one year to the daily exercise of hand writing, in pen on paper, a short essay about something which delighted him. In 2019, he published one hundred of them into “The Book of Delights.”
As a result, a gazillion bloggers took it upon themselves to write their own list of delights. So, I dug in to read as many as I could find. There were a lot of puppies, purring kitties, birdsong, so much nature, tons of food, and very specific sounds, objects, sensations and experiences. I don’t necessarily agree with all of them. I don’t have to, they’re not my lists.
“It didn’t take me long to learn that the discipline or practice of writing these essays occasioned a kind of delight radar. Or maybe it was more like the development of a delight muscle. Something that implies that the more you study delight, the more delight there is to study.”
Ross Gay –Book of Delights
Delight is putting on a jacket you haven’t worn in months and finding M&M’s in the pocket. Or money.2
Delight is, as I type this, seeing a notification pop up that one of my favorite-- but mostly finished-- podcasts has released a new episode today for the first time in 8 months.
Delight is unexpected, so you really need to be on your toes to catch it. Maybe you need to calibrate your delight meter. Start by locating it. Unfortunately, it’s pretty close to the cynical muscles, which are necessary, if a bit over-flexed these days. Polish that meter, blow the dust off, and will it back to life.
Notice when it starts coming online.
Notice what lights it up.
Keep alert and vigilant for any and all sensations and scenarios that set your delight meter flashing and wagging.
Especially in this silly season when you’re expected to be bubbling over with joy and happiness. Screw those bullies.
Meet me at the cookie tray and let’s stuff our pockets with delight.
I’m not smacktalking cake and buffets. I love cake. I love buffets. But I reaaaalllly love cookies. I also love joy and happiness. But not the expectation of them.
Am I weird for more delighted about the M&M’s? I mean, I know I can buy them with the hypothetical money that I found, but I never would.